Fic: Wake. PG.

[roadstergal.livejournal.com]

Oh, lord, I'm sorry. I'm supposed to be working on my talk, but a song played, and I wrote this over my lunch break. To show how sorry I am, I'll write a completely happy fluffpiece about whatever whoever guesses the song correctly wants.

"Smeghead can't take his booze."

Crit is always good. Written for fanfic100. Little Damn Table.

Comments

[kahvi.livejournal.com]

Lister's sweat, which likely had a high enough spice content to stain the pages.
I like the wrongest things...

A foil container of curry lay on the floor, split open, leaking bright-yellow vindaloo over the floor.
Oh, the foreshadowing! The delicious, spicy foreshadowing! Seriously though, nicely done.

Ah, yes. Kryten, the well-known death-expert. *giggle*

Kryten wanted to have him freeze-dried and stuffed, then placed in the ironing closet to remind him of Lister.
That shouldn't be as funny as it is. But oh man...

"He gave me milk and crispies."
Aw, that's oddly touching. :)

Rimmer had an entertaining moment thinking that he had been ejected into space before struggling out of the black cloth.
Delightfully Rimmer.

change the batteries in the psi-scan
*snort*

The hug - to die for. Pun intended. :)

[roadstergal.livejournal.com]

The hug - to die for.

Groooooan! :D

Ja, Rimmer missed the foreshadowing entirely. He likes his minty-fresh.

There's something about Kryten-paranoia and malfunctioning psi-scans. Even better than Space Corps directives.

Hee, thanks!